The Gulls Way Kid
by DeniseV
Summary: Somebody landed a punch in that last shot in the episode "The Boxer". I think we know who it was.


It didn't help that Mark McCormick was moving in faster than his senior opponent. Plus, all that foot action and floating about kept _his_ left a little low. It landed hard into Judge Milt Hardcastle's glove-padded wrist. Hardcastle's left punch? It was a thing of beauty, exactly what was meant when they called boxing 'The Sweet Science', and landed square on Mark's right jaw. The _kid_ looked nothing like Kid Calico as he flew back and landed on his back, just shy of the ropes.

"That was a great punch," Jack Calico said as he and his son rushed into the ring.

"I don't think Mark'll think so, when he comes to," Kid Calico replied to his dad as he knelt beside his old prison buddy.

Hardcastle seemed frozen to his spot, shocked that his punch had done the apparent damage that it had. Finally, seeing Kid kneeling beside the young man in his custody, he blinked and found that he actually could take a step. He quickly made his way to the downed man and said, "Is he out?" And then, realizing that the kid must have been, added, "I didn't mean to hurt him."

"You got some powerful arms there, Milt," Calico senior said. He turned to the Olympic hopeful and asked, "Should I call an ambulance, son?"

"I don't know, Dad." He turned to his old friend, first rubbing on his chest, calling Mark's name, and then, when that resulted in no reaction from McCormick, he slapped Mark's face. "Mark!" he called loudly. This time, results were evident: a long, pained groan from the prostrate one on the canvas.

"That's right, McCormick. Enough fooling around," Hardcastle chastised loudly.

"He's not foolin', Milt," the senior Calico said. "I think maybe we should call for an ambulance. He's not coming to very fast."

"Nah, 'm here," Mark said, not moving from his spot. "Wha' happ'n'd?" He blinked his eyes as though trying to focus.

"Looks like I knocked your lights out, Kid. You're supposed to be fast. What you did in this ring does not qualify as fast."

"You knocked me _out_? Did I get a count?" McCormick seemed to settle on keeping his eyes closed, but Kid Calico was having none of that.

"I need you to open your eyes, Mark. Need to see your pupils, see if there's anything to worry about," the other ex-con said. He sounded like a man who had practice identifying a really bad knockout punch.

"Nah, I think I'll jus' rest here a minute." Mark breathed in a long breath and then asked, "Where's my count?"

"One-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight-nine-ten," Hardcastle spewed out quickly.

"Tha's not right," McCormick said, finally opening his eyes to seek out the familiar, and currently very annoying voice.

"Yeah it is. You've been down for nearly five minutes now," the judge noted.

"But not out that long," Mark countered.

"If you think that means anything, you're wrong!"

"I thought you were 'n expert? An expert would know that you need a count for a knockout!"

Voices had escalated, and the confrontation was taking away from the more important task at hand. "Mr. Hardcastle? Could you and Mark just calm down a minute while I check him out? You hit him really hard, I don't know if you realize that. Just because he's talking back doesn't mean he's okay."

"_I_ realize it was hard," Mark said smartly. "An' I was _allegedly_ knocked out."

"Well how was I supposed to follow you doin' all that jumpin' around?"

"Expert?" McCormick asked mockingly.

"Mr. Hardcastle? Mark?" Kid Calico tried one more time to gain control of the situation. He looked pleadingly to his dad for help.

"You're doing fine, son."

"Okay. Mark, how many of me do you see?"

"Um, well, close to one. You're kinda blurry, Kid."

"Uh-huh. How many fingers do I have up?" Calico had two fingers positioned right in front of Mark's face.

"Um…two?"

"Hmph," they all heard Hardcastle's snort of doubt, followed by, "Guessing isn't going to help, McCormick." Kid and Jack Calico both glared at the retired jurist.

"Mark," Kid continued, "how does your head feel? And did you hit your head in the back when you landed on the canvas?"

"How do you think my head feels? It feels like Hardcastle punched me," Mark's anger was growing as he went on, looking in Hardcastle's direction, "like he _meant_ it."

"I _did_ mean it. Didn't you?"

"I thought we were sparring," Mark replied defensively.

Hardcastle stared at his parolee. If that was the case, then they still had a lot to learn about reading each other. After the way the kid jumped right in with the very physical one-on-one basketball they participated in most mornings, he figured that McCormick was doing the same with this. Besides, he'd said that he'd done some boxing before, despite Hardcastle's skepticism on the kid's definition after watching him 'running under water'. And was the kid right about him being more of a brawler than a boxer? It could be, but there was one thing that Hardcastle knew for certain: he never really wanted to hurt the kid.

"Judge? Are ya all right?" McCormick asked as he tried to sit up.

"Hold on, Mark," Kid Calico said. Jack also did his part to try to restrain the young man.

"McCormick, I wasn't knocked out," he judge replied.

"Neither was…oh, well…anyway, you seemed out of it for a second there," McCormick returned. Mark had forced his way to his feet, despite the efforts of both of the Calicos, but as soon as he was upright, and heading towards Hardcastle, he tipped swiftly and immediately into the judge's arms.

"And what're you trying to do, faint now?"

McCormick's face was now buried in Hardcastle's chest. He answered softly, "Didn't faint. But I don't feel too good, either." The kid was getting heavy in his arms so the judge, with an assist from the boxer and his father, helped McCormick onto a bench in the corner of the ring.

"Maybe we should get an ambulance," Hardcastle said worriedly.

"No. You can take me." It was a suggestion that told the judge that the kid really was hurting. He had hurt him.

"Sorry about this, Kiddo. I never meant…"

"Don't worry about it." McCormick was now leaned back against the corner of the ring, his arms draped over the ropes, his eyes closed. He looked like he could have just been in between rounds, except that he might likely have a slight concussion. And that concussion was something that had been avoidable. Hardcastle would need to be more careful about these situations in the future. McCormick was certainly scrappy, young and in good shape, but the judge was bigger than the kid, and he was a strong former cop. He had to keep in mind, too, that this kid, though he'd probably learned a lot in his youth about defending himself, had spent most of his adult years racing cars and not needing to rely on brute strength to get through days on the circuit. He probably had opportunity to make use of those skills in prison, once or twice. Hardcastle even had a twinge of guilt about that sometimes, too, as McCormick had certainly not been isolated from some of the more violent criminals that had been sent up.

The judge's musings were suddenly interrupted by McCormick's voice.

"Judge!"

"What?"

"It's not your fault. I should've known you wouldn't pull your punches. You're Judge Milton C. Hardcastle, after all."

"Yeah, well…" the judge started to reply.

"No, really. Please don't feel guilty." Hardcastle looked the kid in the eyes, and saw the pleading sincerity in the request.

"Fine. But I think we should get you to the emergency room."

"Yeah, I suppose."

"Can you walk?" the judge asked as he stood to help the young man with just that.

"You're big and strong. You can help me," McCormick replied as he rose gingerly to his feet.

"Now you're cookin'." The judge and the Calicos helped Mark through the ropes and down from the ring. Father and son watched as Hardcastle helped McCormick out of the gym.

"He'll be okay," the father said.

"Yeah, he will. He's got someone like you helping him now," the son answered as they put away equipment and then headed home.

The End.


End file.
